


it's up to you

by merong63



Category: Dreamcatcher (Korea Band), IZONE (Band)
Genre: Cross-Post, Dom/sub, F/F, OOC, POV Second Person, Rare Pair, not explicit, smut?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:13:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25546474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merong63/pseuds/merong63
Summary: she comes to her home, heart about to leap out of her chest
Relationships: JiU/Eunbi
Kudos: 8





	it's up to you

_**Eunbi** _

You knock, hesitation lacing your movement. Your heart is pounding, threatening to jump out of your chest as you wait for the door to open. There’s a moment where you pray it wouldn’t, so you could just leave and forget anything and everything that has to do with this. It’s a flicker, gone as soon as it came. Before long, the door opens.

She stands before you, clad in her usual black ensemble of dress shirt, vest, and trousers. She tells you to come in, and so you do. She eases the coat off of you. You watch her hang it beside her own maroon one. She then leads you towards the dining room.

It’s cozy in there. The dining table was big enough to seat eight, but tonight, it’s set for only two. Above it, hangs a chandelier dimmed low to give an ambient feeling and to go with the number of candles carefully placed around the room.

She pulls out a chair for you, and you sit down. She then sits herself at the head of the table, near you. Then, seemingly from out of nowhere, a couple of servers appear, setting food on the table and filling the different glasses with water and wine. After setting the wine bottle in the bucket filled with ice situated on her side of the table, the servers disappear quietly back into what you surmise would be the kitchen.

She clears her throat to draw back your attention. You see her holding her wine glass up, so you hold yours up as well. You toast, and she motions for you to eat. It’s mostly a quiet affair, save for the occasional pleasantries regarding work, family, and friends.

You see her reach for the wine bottle. You watch her top your glass off before topping her own. She watches you watch her the entire time. When she places the bottle down, effectively breaking the oeillade, you release the breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

You freeze after doing so. The smirk she’s wearing screams that she saw what you just did, and that’s not a good thing; not a good thing at all.

Slowly, she leans forward in your direction. She has her wine glass raised, and when you hold yours up, she toasts to you.

You drink – it’s all you can do to hide the lump in your throat. But she sees that too, and her stare and the slight curve of her lips remind you that you wanted this, that you wanted to be under her full and undivided attention, and that you demanded such a thing from her. The memory struck you so abruptly and so ferociously that it knocked the wind out of you. And she’s not exactly making it any easier for you right now by the knowing gaze she’s giving you.

You down the rest of you drink, and your eyes close involuntarily from your action. When you open them, you see her already standing in front of you. She plucks the glass from your hands, promptly places it on the table, and takes your wrist, half-dragging you out of the dining room.

She leads you to the farthest room on the second floor. You’re breathless by the time you reach the inside, but you’re rendered even more so when you register the king-sized bed across from where you’re standing. It’s framed by swirly posts painted, of course, black, but the drapes hanging over it and the sheets – _oh, the sheets!_ – are all white and obviously made of silk.

It’s only when you recognize your own hand running over the material, feeling it, that you realize that you’ve moved towards the bed. You stop and withdraw your hand immediately. You feel, rather than hear, a soft chuckle then, and you know she’s standing quite dangerously close behind you.

She tells you that it’s okay, that a lot of people are in awe of silk, and that she herself likes the feel of it against her skin – that it’s one of the reasons why she sleeps naked all the time.

If you’re being honest, her words barely registered in your head. You, after all, were too busy from trying to keep yourself on two legs as her breath tickled your nape from every word she said.

It’s entirely unfair… but isn’t that what you were asking for?

You’re not even afforded to ponder upon such a thought as you feel the ghosting of her lips over your neck, slowly creeping up to the side of your jaw. _God_ , this is too much! And, _oh_ , is that her hand running down your back?

It takes all of you not to fall apart. Sadly, it wasn’t enough, and your knees buckle.

_**Minji** _

You feel rather than see her knees give out. But you catch her just in time – you always do.

You hold her just by her shoulders, and the closeness of your bodies let you hear her ragged breathing. Your instinct is to coo, to soothe, but you know that’s not what she wants. She was clear when she marched into your office yesterday.

You quickly school your expression, even if she can’t see your face. It helps you manage yourself and get back into character.

You ask her if she’s okay, always waiting for the green light before proceeding. She takes a couple of deep breaths before nodding. It’s not enough for you, so you ask again. She squeaks more than she says “yes.”

You suggest then that perhaps she should sit on the bed, make herself comfortable. She does what she’s told. You can’t help yourself then and coo, “good girl.”

Once you uttered those words, she snaps her head up at you. You have that knowing smile placed firmly on your face, perfectly aware of its effects on her. And, instantly, you see her eyes flicker and see her intake of breath. You pat yourself on the back before continuing.

You tell her that she seems to be not feeling “good,” gently pressing the back of your hand to her forehead. Then you ask her if there’s anything you can do to help her.

She whimpers from your touch, the sound coming out so beautifully that it sends electricity through your core. You could barely contain your answering whimper from that.

You take a deep breath to steady yourself.

“You still haven’t answered my question. Perhaps you need some time alone to collect your thoughts?” you ask, moving your hand away and creating some distance between you two as you ask so.

She cries out her answer.

You raise your brow at her, “No?”

“No, ma’am,” she amends quickly.

You smile at her answer, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear so as to make sure that ~~you see her clearly~~ she sees clearly.

“Are you going to answer my question then?”

She nods meekly, breath still coming out raggedly. You see her struggle, but you also see her resolve. You stay still and wait, knowing the silent encouragement is being received.

Finally, you see her lips part ever so slightly, “Please… touch me.”

And your smile widens, as you bring your hands back on her.


End file.
